My wife and I are on a fun food frenzy at the OC Fair, and already Sue is glad she came armed with Tums. But much later and deep into the fairgrounds, Sue spots the food truck of her dreams. Running toward the green machine, she hollers, "It's the Lime Truck!"

I shake my head. What's so good about a green truck and limes? I'm on the hunt for fried brownies.

But I soon find out the Lime Truck isn't about good. It's about wonderful.

• • •

This started out as a bull riding column. That's right, I wasn't planning on testing taste buds; instead, I planned to test myself on a twisting, turning bull. I even trained a bit.

But sanity prevailed, a rare thing. Plus, the fair's theme this year is, "Come and Get It!" To me that's a call to supper. When the theme is, "Straddle a bucking bull and see if you live!" I promise I'll do just that.

We pull into the fairgrounds, pay $10 for parking, shell out $20 for two tickets – this isn't a cheap date – and stare up at a massive yellow and red "Chicken Charlie's," a storied mecca for most everything fried, from brownies to Oreos, from cake to pickles. Word on the street is you can even get fried Kool-Aid balls, crack for fried foodies.

But we can't find Kool-Aid balls. I wonder if it's because the Kool-Aid addicts have cleaned out the place. For a fried fix, we settle for the Krispy Kreme concoction and for reasons that I don't understand, my wife also orders fried bacon-wrapped pickles.

Staring at the sugary sandwich, I blurt, "This looks hideous." My gut begs me to look away. But I'm on a mission. I put the darn thing in my mouth and smile, determined not to ruin the unique experience for my wife.

Sue announces her bacon-pickle combo is "delicious." Then she takes a bite of the sandwich. Raised to be polite, Sue allows, "It's, uh, strange going from pickles and bacon to a Krispy Kreme chicken donut."

We chew thoughtfully as a Chicken Charlie's server makes like a crack-addled cowboy and dances "Gangnam Style." I'm convinced he's hopped up on Kool-Aid balls.

Sue tosses what's left of the donut sandwich in the trash, a significant decision since she actually came equipped with doggie bags.

• • •

Down a path and around a corner we pass a place that offers deep fried cheeseburgers. Jackpot!

But it turns out they only deep fry the patty. Like, who doesn't?

A sign promises, "Mile-long hotdogs." But the dogs aren't a mile long. Not close.

A stall beckons with chocolate covered bacon. I proudly point out my discovery to my to my bride of 31 years. "I've had it," Sue sniffs. "It's awful."

I had no idea my wife was such a connoisseur.

We arrive at an even bigger yellow and red sign than Chicken Charlie's. Despite no fried brownies in sight, I know immediately this place is for us: There's a giant photo of a nurse holding heart defibrillator paddles.

The only question is what to order at the very cleverly named "Bacon A-Fair." Everything looks so good. Shall we dine on "Bacon Bombs," "Bacon Bliss" or gouda-stuffed-bacon-wrapped-Portobello-mushrooms? Did I mention the, um, tempting combination is called Porkabello Kabobs?

No contest. Say it out loud. "Porkabello." Plus, Porkabello comes with fries.

"Fifteen dollars," the server announces. And Sue does something I've never heard her do standing next to a cash register. She gasps.

Hey, no one said deep frying food is cheap.

We find a shaded bench and sit down. Sue pops one of five bacon-wrapped shrooms in her mouth. "It's not good," she declares. "You can't taste the cheese."

I examine the food on a stick. "That's because there is no cheese."

Holding up a little cup of shredded gouda, I offer Sue cheese. She dismisses it. "They said the cheese was inside."

She walks off in search of sugar-free lemonade. Good luck with that.

I dump cheese on exceptionally greasy and tasty bacon and mushroom. Then I look around for a real defibrillator.

We head toward another fried food establishment. But Sue announces she's done, ready to take a nap. Only three oily meals? "Yeah, but," Sue says pausing to burp, "my stomach is...oooh."

Losing the ability to speak is never a good sign. Still, we press on, the fabled fried brownie proving an elusive prey. Suddenly, Sue sees the Lime Truck and explains this very same truck won a national reality show called, "The Great Food Truck Race."

Oh darn, I missed that series. Still, I'm a fan of any Orange County company that wins a national contest and these guys won $100,000, so I approach the truck.

But Sue can't rally and tells me I'm on my own. The taco doesn't pack the punch of Porkabello. Instead, it tastes fresh, healthy. It also costs a third of Porkabello. With Sue benched, I check out the "Ragin Cajun" truck, another foodie winner with its chicken and sausage bisque.

We stalk the ride zone for the elusive fried brownie. But Sue nearly collapses amidst the whirling, twirling gizmos. I point to a giant two-armed machine called Mach 1, a three-story-high contraption that makes bullriding seem sane. I bet Sue $10 that she won't climb aboard.

Pointing to a spot directly under the ride, she agrees to take the bet, adding, "Only if you stand right there."

Surprised and pulling out my camera, I stand on the spot. But Sue has something else to tell me.

User Agreement

Keep it civil and stay on topic. No profanity, vulgarity, racial
slurs or personal attacks. People who harass others or joke about
tragedies will be blocked. By posting your comment, you agree to
allow Orange County Register Communications, Inc. the right to
republish your name and comment in additional Register publications
without any notification or payment.